


take care

by fanfictionandcats



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictionandcats/pseuds/fanfictionandcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there’s one thing he knows Clarke hates, it’s feeling useless. That’s why it takes two guards standing outside medical and him checking up on her three times a day to make sure she actually stays in bed and rests for more than twenty minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take care

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick little something that came out of reading bellarke fic last night. I just finished season 1 of the 100 last week and caught up on the s2 episodes that have been aired yesterday and i'm so !!!!

If there’s one thing he knows Clarke hates, it’s feeling useless. That’s why it takes two guards standing outside medical and him checking up on her three times a day to make sure she actually stays in bed and rests for more than twenty minutes.

 

It’s nothing more than a cold, really, and a quick, mild fever. But the amount of stress and lack of sleep Clarke functions on on a regular basis could turn that cold into something else. And he’s not willing to risk it.

 

Besides, it is kind of funny to see her sulking in her cot every time he comes in to see her. Clarke is the only person he knows that has to be physically forced to relax.

 

“Bellamy, I’m fine!” She all but whines as he’s leaving to check Raven’s progress on mending the walkies after a couple of them got ruined in the rain. The color’s returning to her cheeks after her fever spiked last night, her hair twisted up with stray blond pieces falling around her face and propped up in bed by a couple of extra pillows.

 

He rolls his eyes and tries not to show how much he’s enjoying this.

 

“Clarke, you’re sick, and you need to rest.”

 

She squints at him, pursing her lips, but then doesn’t reply. He nods at her one last time, and exits the tent.

 

* * *

 

She sneaks out.

 

He finds her almost by accident, urgently whispering to Jasper at the far edge of the camp ground. His foot snaps a twig, and Jasper zooms away as Clarke turns around.

 

“I should have known better than to assume you needed anything less than a fully-armed guard team of ten to keep you in bed.”

 

She huffs, crossing her arms and meaning to look menacing, except it’s hard when she’s so much smaller than him, barefoot, and wearing a light blue fuzzy blanket that Octavia found on the outskirts of a grounder campsite draped around her shoulders.

 

“I would have been released yesterday, but the person who has to clear it is me.”

 

“And because that’s the case, that power transfers to me. And _I_ haven’t released you.” He replies.

 

“This is just you, trying to control everything - “

 

“Control everything? By making sure you don’t run yourself ragged and - “

 

She interrupts again, “You think I’m some breakable, little… little _princess_ , but I’m not!”

 

“I know you’re not.” He suddenly admits, almost without his mind giving his mouth permission. Clarke’s face twists from steadfast and rough to a little surprised. “You’re strong. But if something happened to you, this camp would be lost without you.”

 

 _I would be too._ He thinks, but he doesn’t say.

 

“I’m fine, though.” She repeats for what feels like the thousandth time.

 

“Alright.” He surrenders. “Just have one more night in medical, and then you can be cleared for work tomorrow.”

 

“Really?” She asks suspiciously, “No fight?”

 

“No fight.”

 

She smiles, and it makes something shift in his chest. She’d be back to work tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

She would have, if her fever hadn’t spiked again.

 

Now, she doesn’t have the energy to fight with Bellamy about anything at all. It’s almost as bad as the epidemic the grounders brought, back when everything had really started. She’s pale and weak and sleeps through the entire day without eating.

 

Night falls, and he sweeps into medical to check on her for the sixth time today. He drags a stool over next to her cot where she’s sleeping on her back, eyebrows furrowed and sweat caking her hairline.

 

He dismisses the guards quietly, knowing that there’s no way Clarke would get up now, and it’s wasting the manpower to keep them here (and maybe, maybe, he kind of wants to be with her alone.)

 

There’s a pail of relatively cool water on the table a few feet away with a rag hung over the rim. Bellamy gets up slowly, bringing it over, and returning to Clarke’s side.

 

He’s seen her do this to countless others, she’s even done it to him on his occasional injury-related visits. He presses the cloth lightly across her forehead as gently as he can, like Clarke does. He’s always been fascinated by her in that way; she can be at a thousand miles an hour, guns blazing like a vicious forest fire and then soft and quiet, with gentle hands that know how to make pain go away and smooth over all those scars.

 

“You’re not going to die.” He says, more for himself than her. She’s gotten through worse; they all have. Still, though, he hates seeing her like this. He wonders when things are going to get easier for them, if they ever are.

 

Bellamy takes advantage of the moment, greedily letting his eyes study her face in the detail he’s never allowed himself. He only looks at her in passing, three or four seconds and then onto whatever task needed his attention next. Rare moments when it’s more, like after Dax tried to kill him and he was coming down from the high on those nuts, or when they first saw each other after she’d escaped from Mount Weather, are few and far between. But she’d looked at him like he was the only person she wanted to see in the world and flew into his arms, so fast he barely knew what was happening until he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. It had felt like coming home.

 

He brushes the tips of his fingers across her forehead, sweeping the pieces of hair that had been stuck there away. She really does look like a princess, now. Like that one who was poisoned and cursed to sleep until her true love kissed her and broke the spell.

 

Her eyes blink open, and before he can help himself, he smiles, his hand dropping to cup her shoulder.

 

“Bellamy?” She asks hoarsely.

 

“Yeah. How you feeling, Princess?”

 

She narrows her eyes at the nickname, making him chuckle. That’s been happening a lot lately. Him… chuckling. Whenever she’s around, it’s like his heart softens.

 

“Fine.” She says stubbornly, jutting out her lip a little as she speaks. He raises his eyebrows and stands up from the stool, moving to leave, but her hand darts out and circles around his wrist, stopping him.

 

“Could you - um.” She swallows dryly, and continues flatly, “Do you mind staying for a little bit, I haven’t talked to anyone all day, how have things been around camp?”

  
He sits back down, a little glad he doesn’t have to leave just yet, and ignores the tingle on his wrist of where she touched him. 


End file.
